The Tea Room
by EtLaBete
Summary: Though he has become a man, Beauty is haunted by nightmares of the Beast as he once was. Directly following the events of Madam Leprince de Beaumont's La Belle et la Bete (subsequently, the 1946 French film).


**The Tea Room**

I open my eyes to darkness. No moonlight filters in through the large bay windows. A storm is rolling in, and the wind, whistling frantically outside as it is drawn by the heavy clouds, torments the trees. Branches scrape and beat madly against the glass, as if asking to be saved from oncoming cold.

I slowly turn my head, my breath hitching in my throat. You are still asleep. I do not move, afraid that the frantic pounding of my terrified heart will wake you. You look so peaceful, your features softened and your golden hair spread across the silk pillows like sunbeams. For a moment, I am overwhelmed by your beauty. It still amazes me that a mere month ago, your hair was a mane and your comforting hands mangy claws.

Suddenly, the grandfather clock in the hall strikes, and I bolt upwards. The breath that I had been holding in rushes out of my lungs and with it, my composure. My chest begins heaving, my lungs struggling with the short, panicked breaths. My eyes are tearing as the visions of my dreams flow back into my mind. I try not to sob, and I sound like an abused puppy instead, whimpering and gripping my own arms for comfort.

You do not wake, though. You never do when I struggle towards consciousness, trying to escape from nightmares of you. It's probably better that way, really. I don't know what would happen if you tried to touch me with these visions tearing through my mind.

I don't know why the dreams began after the wedding. You are a man now, and yet my dreams won't seem to allow it to last. They twist you into a monster with grizzly claws, glinting eyes, and fur upon fur. The things you do to me in my dreams can only be described as purely horrific. The force, the pure terror I feel with that dense, heated, ravaging weight on me—the sensations last on my skin even though it only happens in my dreams. The mere thought of it all makes my stomach twist into painful knots, makes me never want to touch your body or let you touch mine.

The grandfather clock chimes again before I feel confident enough to leave the confines of the heavy, down blankets. It's pouring now, and every so often thunder sounds in the distance. Slowly, I slip out of the bed, and the chill of the wooden floor on my feet sends shivers through me. You twitch as my weight leaves your side, a conflicted expression overcoming your face, but it only lasts a moment, and then you're back in the realm of sound sleep. I pull my robe over my bare shoulders and quietly leave the room.

The castle is a terrifying place at night. There is something about the extensive corridors and many doors that create a very tense atmosphere. Long shadows loom, entangling the halls in a web of darkness, and the floors and walls creak as if ghosts from a time long past infect the very foundation.

I find myself in what we call the tea room. It is a small, comfortable den that sits next to the garden; small bookcases house my favorite texts, and large, down-filled chairs are scattered across the room. Two of the four walls are basically made of glass, usually allowing an uplifting brightness and a view of the immaculately kept garden. Now, your prized rose bushes and greenery are overwhelmed by the dark, moonless, night. The storm ravages the leaves, snatching petals from the roses and depositing them into the cold wind, alone.

I press my forehead against the cool glass and close my eyes. Even in my terror-stricken panic, I can still feel the exhaustion lurking in my limbs and eyes. This room has become my escape, because recently, the nights have played towards my insanity in the same pattern: I find myself here after jolting awake, and then I slowly make my way downstairs, only to curl up on my favorite chaise and sleep until sunrise. And I always awake early enough so that I may hurriedly get dressed before you realize that you've been sleeping alone.

With a sigh, I turn away from the window, only to freeze in place. There you are, standing in the doorway. You are bare-chested, your hair is disheveled, and your eyes still struggle with sleep.

"Beauty?" you mumble, blinking a few times as if to clear your vision. "What are you doing down here at this hour?"

"Oh, it's nothing," I say, trying to smile, but the sight of you has made my veins freeze and my throat tighten. "I couldn't sleep, so I came down to watch the storm."

You look at my quizzically, but you say nothing.

"Please, go back to sleep. I didn't want to wake you."

"Is something wrong?"

My heart bangs against my ribcage so hard that I am afraid it will burst through my chest, so I place a hand over my left breast. "No, not at all."

"You seem… agitated. Are you sure you're all right?"

The urge to cry overtakes me, but I hold back my tears. The suddenly distant look on your face begins to eat away at my resolve.

"It's nothing," I say, my voice more stable than I had anticipated. "I've just not been sleeping well. Bad dreams."

"You can tell me about them, if that would help." You step towards me, a gentle smile slipping onto your face.

"I don't want to burden you with my silly dreams," I say with a soft laugh.

And yet, even with a tender voice, I still hold my hands out, palms facing you, as if to say, "Please stop, don't come near me." Your face begins to pale, and suddenly, it's as if your eyes have taken on the same frenzy of the storm that rages outside.

I've given myself away.

"What is the meaning of all of this?" you demand, your hands clenched angrily at your sides and your face contorting with frustration. "You have been acting oddly for weeks now. What is going on, Beauty?"

"I don't wish to talk about it," I stammer, my voice shaking.

"Are you… are you afraid of me?" You are staring at me as if I had gone mad.

"No! Of course not!" But even I don't believe myself, so how could you?

"I thought that… don't you love me?"

I turn away from you, unable to stand the look that your eyes hold for me now.

I hear your footsteps approaching me, and it's as if the vibrations from the floor soak into the soles of my feet and course through my skin. My arms break out in gooseflesh. You place a firm hand on my shoulder and spin me around to face you. For a single moment, I am sure that your teeth have become fangs again, and that your pupils have begun to shrink into cat-like slits. And with that, I am lost, residing again in the world where your beastly arms force me to the floor and your paws tear off my clothing to reach flesh. My chest begins to heave, and I can hear my heartbeat pounding violently in my ears.

The look on your face is a mixture of confusion and fear. One hand still rests on my shoulder, and the grip tightens.

Covering my face with my hands, I breathe, "Please don't! Please don't hurt me again! Please!" I am almost sobbing, and short, ragged whimpers leak from my lips.

The weight of your hand on my shoulder disappears, but at first, I do not have the courage to look at you. You say nothing, and so I peak between my fingers at your face. The look on it will haunt me forever. It is a melancholy heavier than any I have ever felt, and the absolute pain in your gaze alone tears my heart in half. Slowly, my hands drop from my face, and I lower my eyes, overcome with guilt.

"I am so sor—" I look up at you, but cannot finish my sentence. I cover my mouth with my hands and stumble backwards until I collide with the window.

You stand there, holding out your hands so that you can stare at them with wide, unblinking eyes. Your palms are no longer those of a prince, but have become callused with coarse, black pads. Your knuckles are sprouting tufts of dark brown and gold fur, as are your arms and chest and shoulders.

And then, before I know what is happening, you scream and drop to your knees, clutching at your abdomen as your back arches in an abnormal, sickening way and a sequence of soft and loud cracks begin to sound throughout the room.

The look of pain on your face is unbearable. With a cry, I drop to my knees and reach for you, but you violently smack my hands away. The burning sensation of pain shoots through my fingers and I look at the back of my hand to see four bloody gashes.

It is the sight of blood that reignites my fears, and I slowly inch back toward the window, wanting to be as far from you as possible. You turn to glare at me, and the sight of your face startles me into stone. It is no longer your face—either of the faces I know—but some sick, disgusting hybrid of man and monster. Your nose bridge has broadened considerably and your cheekbones have become very high, making your face look sickly. Your lips have almost disappeared, and your mouth houses two rows of pearly fangs.

Tears fall down my cheeks. I can only whisper your name: "Beast..."

"You did this," you snarl, slamming a large paw on the ground before you scream again and your body begins to spasm. The scream turns to a roar, and then you are clutching at your face and head as the cartilage of your ears begins to change and reform into those of a wildcat.

Another loud crunch sounds, and you fall to your side, doubled over and crying painful, angry tears. I stare at you, completely horrified. In front of my eyes, some unseen force breaks your knees and your legs bend backward. Even your feet have begun to mutate, the bones elongating and changing shape until your skin until I fear they were tear through the flesh. A sound emits from you, and I can't comprehend it.

When you'd turned back into a man that day in the gardens, I did not witness a single moment of your transformation. One minute you were the Beast and the next, you were my prince. And now, I sit here, unable to move, to run, to scream, as your body tears itself apart from the inside and forms something new and utterly horrid.

And then suddenly, you stop moving. I can no longer see your face, as it has been covered in fur that falls over your eyes. You are still breathing, but shallowly, and your newly formed tail twitches. For a moment, I feel as if my own heart has stopped beating. Slowly, on hands and knees, I move towards you.

I stop about a foot from you, and reach out my uninjured hand to touch your flank. The fur is soft, just like I remember it being in the gardens when you lamented my broken promise and convinced us both that your death was imminent. I laugh, but it brings on tears, and they begin to streak down my face faster than I can wipe them away.

A huge sigh escapes you, a frightful sound that mimics the whistling of the wind outside, and my body jolts, aware of the danger. You roll over painstakingly until you are facing me. Your eyes are so sad that I long to reach out and touch you again, but I'm afraid. I hold my hands in my lap, attempting to look calm, even as the blood is rushing to my face and my body is on edge and ready to move.

"Why?"

"I honestly don't know," I whisper.

You make a sound as if you understand, and it sounds like you are purring.

Slowly, you climb to all fours, at first unsteady. I watch you, the majestic monster that once treated me like a princess, rising again, and the tightness in my chest in unbearable. My mind screams at me to move, reminds me of the dreams where you tear my innocence from my body before violently defiling it, but I sit and watch you rise.

For several moments, you crouch there, staring at me with those cat-like, golden eyes, your tail swaying back and forth as if to keep your balance. Your nose twitches as you sniff the air, and for a moment, you almost seem to smile. But the smile turns to a snarl, and before I even have a chance to scream, my head hits the tiled floor with a loud crack, and you are on top of me. I feel as if my arms and legs are lead, and I scream at my limbs to struggle, but you have no trouble holding me down with your huge form. I can feel the warm thickness of blood pooling underneath my skull, and my vision begins to blur with tears that I cannot wipe away.

"You were supposed to love me!" you roar, saliva raining down onto my face. "I am supposed to be a man again! I am not a monster, and you've done this to me!"

"You're hurting me," I gasp, unable to breathe under the weight of your body.

You laugh, and it's a harsh, chilly sound. "You were supposed to be my savior. You were the kind woman to save me from my curse, from my solitude. But what are you now? Just like those two horrid monsters that guard our front door. Shall we show them what you've become? Shall we show them the true beauty of their queen?"

You climb off of me, and I gulp in air like water, but the relief does not last. Your claw entwines itself in my hair and pain courses through my already injured head as you drag me towards the door.

It feels like an eternity before we arrive at the foyer and the front doors of the palace where my sisters' statues were place by the fairy that granted me your humanity and a crown. You throw open the doors, and the cold wind gushes in.

With brute strength, you toss me onto the steps and into the elements. I'm immediately soaked through by the chilled, brutal rain, and I can hardly open my eyes long enough to see. But the sight of your monstrous stature outlined in the doorframe is unmistakable, even with my blurred vision.

"How far you've fallen, my Beauty," you say, slowly making your way down the steps towards me. I try to move, but even the slightest movement of my body causes white-hot pain to explode through my head.

"You disgust me," you say, bending down to trail a single nail down my cheek.

The flesh splits under the sharp point, and I can only gasp at the pain.

Slowly, you draw back a paw. I close my ears, unsure if the liquid dripping down my face is rain, tears, or blood. And then suddenly, my ears are met with the joyous laughter of women's scorn.

My sisters have won.

Your nails dig into my neck and tear, and for a single moment, it hurts. But then numbness sets in, and soon after, nothing.


End file.
